Author: J.R. McMillan (page 6 of 12)

Though best known as a freelance writer covering the culinary and cultural scenes, J.R. McMillan has also worked as a script consultant, featured columnist, photographer, publicist, and public radio producer.

From local beloved to nationally renowned brands, he applies his background in film and television to create compelling and persuasive narratives. His immersive research and in-depth interviews reveal the hidden story, and his insights and expertise are featured in multiple mainstream and industry publications reaching a wide range of audiences.

He is an alumnus of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism and Mass Communications at Marshall University and lives in Columbus, Ohio.

March 15, 2019

Pies Wide Shut

Originally published in the Spring 2019 issue of Stock & Barrel

Competitive eating can be a bit of a cult. Like fans of TED or The Walking Dead, there are rules and rituals of which the uninitiated are blissfully oblivious.

That’s why it seemed disingenuous to write about food challenges for Stock & Barrel without ultimately joining the inner sanctum by taking one on personally — so I did.

Joseppi’s Mega Meat Pizza Challenge was the obvious choice for several reasons. It was the only team contest, so spreading the blame as generously as the sauce would still preserve my street cred. It also had the lowest rate of success, which set the bar right at my level. Finally, the payout was pretty impressive, not that I’d be in the mood for another pie any time soon.

I presumed finding a partner would be equally challenging, but it turned out to be quite easy. One post on Facebook yielded a quick offer from someone who also had the gumption, just not a teammate.

Blase Pinkert and I are in the same neighborhood beer brewing brood. The sometimes powerlifter and Gaelic football player could crush you with a gaze as easily as a clenched fist. It didn’t hurt that he also had a reputation for eating anything at least once and a beard big enough to hide a few slices under it if the contest was close.

“In the Air Force, I was the guy who would take on any challenge, that was my role in the shop. I’ve always been an entertainer, so I fed off of the attention,” Pinkert revealed. “I learned I could get people to throw 10 or 20 on the table and make a few bucks doing this.”

We’d called ahead the week before, so they were expecting us. The crust starts out on a pan the size of a wagon wheel, and by the time they’re done topping it with successive layers of meat and cheese, it’s nearly as thick as one. It’s so big, it has to go through the oven twice and takes two people to carry it.

This is when the head games begin. The kitchen staff tells you cautionary tales about those who have failed — and the “Loser’s Bucket”. They start prepping the table with bowls of ranch dressing and barbecue sauce, explaining that the taste turns on you and most have to change it up to keep going. They warn you about drinking too much, or too little. Passing patrons and dutiful denizens weight in on the long odds of finishing, or even getting close.

When the pie hits the table, it almost eclipses it entirely. If not for the lingering heat, they could just put legs on the pan and scoot chairs under it. It looks like a cinematic sight gag, from the movie Top Secret.

We’d prepared the way professional competitive eaters do, with a stomach stretching meal the evening prior and lots of water to preserve the newfound space until go time. A few quick pics for posterity and the clock started. We went hard charging for the edges and mentally broke up the 60 slices into short-term goals.

Chew too little and you waste space. Chew too much and you waste time. At 20 minutes, we’d already blown past Cameron Fontana and his camera guy’s mark. It was looking good.

Then the meat sweats set in and we hit “the wall”.

The wall is different things for different people. For us, it was the salt of the bacon and ham that did us in. When you can’t quench your thirst and have plenty of room left to drink, but can’t stand the thought of another bite, that’s the wall. We’d each eaten about a large pizza, no small feat considering by the time we got from the edge to the center, it was more than an inch thick. Pinkert’s athletic training came into play, but we still couldn’t overcome the physics.

“It did help from a psychological aspect, the fact that you learn to push your body and ‘turn off’ or ignore the signals it tells you, to push yourself that much further,” he said.

After a few final slices, we took a break hoping for a late rally that never came. We barely knew each other before that evening, but after spending an hour gorging and gossiping, we’d joined the cult — even if we still didn’t know the secret handshake.

We parted ways, went home, and both slipped into a long carb coma, like a python that swallows a gazelle and has to chill for a few days before it finds the will to move again.

By the way, the pizza was delicious and is highly recommended. Otherwise, we never would have gotten as far as we did. Unlike almost all other local food challenges, at Joseppi’s, you get to keep the leftovers. I didn’t have to buy pizza for two weeks. And it was also an irresistible chance to try out that time-lapse app on my phone, shrinking an hour down to three minutes — scored to the theme song from Benny Hill, of course.

But bawdy British sketch comedy is another kind of cult altogether. ▩

For standard size pies, or to try your own luck at the Mega Meat Pizza Challenge, visit joseppispizza.com

(Oh, and here’s the video, for those who think they can do better.)

March 1, 2019

Outside the Box

Originally published in the March 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

Holiday weekends in Hocking Hills offer ample opportunities for outdoor adventure. But Seth and Emily Britt’s first overnight stay at the site of their modern take on a cabin in the woods was more than either anticipated.

The family of four (now five) had recently closed on the lot after an exhaustive search for just the right spot to build what would become known as The Box Hop, a home away from home built from three enormous steel cargo containers assembled in gravity-defying fashion. The sleek aesthetic and amenities break from the more traditional rustic retreats just a short drive from Columbus.

Exceeding expectations was always the plan. Getting rescued from rising flood waters in the middle of the night was not.

“Emily woke me up at around 2AM freaking out. She’s normally the calm one, but she was terrified,” Seth recalled. “The water was creeping up the side of the RV. The fire department had to evacuate us because we couldn’t get back to the other side of the creek.”

When the waters receded, the Britt family found one of the shipping containers had actually floated downstream more than 300 feet into their neighbor’s yard. Rainfall and runoff would continue to plague the construction process. But after a decade of dreaming, years of planning, and months of delays, their unlikely abode was finally ready to share with friends and strangers alike.

“It all started when I was working at FedEx as a third-shift package handler while going to Ohio State,” he revealed. “I grew up in a trailer in Jackson County and realized the shipping container I was loading was larger than the home I grew up in.”

Seth was already pretty handy, having rehabbed a duplex in Olde Towne East. The couple’s first home was a HUD house in West Jefferson that had been vacant so long it was overrun with raccoons. Neither was easily put off by hard work, or a little wildlife. A growing family drew them back to the city, but never dampened their dream.

“We sold that house when the market was up and moved to Westgate. After putting in bids that fell through on several other properties to buy and fix up, we decided maybe it was finally the right time to consider the shipping container house,” he explained. “We spent a year trying to find the right lot with the right size, location, and access. Luckily, Emily knew exactly what she wanted, which helped narrow our options.”

Emily had earned her real estate license along the way, and had a natural knack for design. Her father works in environmental construction, so those insights informed and inspired her striking silhouette for The Box Hop. But the functionality grew entirely out of the family’s personal connection to the perennial destination for hiking, rock climbing, and scenic serenity.

“We’d been going to Hocking Hills for years, so we had this mental list of things we appreciated where we’d stayed, and things that were missing,” she recalled. “We wanted to create a different spin, the kind of place that would be more than just somewhere to stay, that felt like a place we would want to live.”

Much of the meteoric appeal of AirBnB is its authenticity over another ho-hum hotel room. But trying to make a place feel more like a home can easily end up a hodgepodge. The Britts sought the right balance, inside and out, by creating a simple and sophisticated stay unlike anything else in the Midwest. The offset configuration of the two lower containers opened up a surprisingly spacious entertaining and dining area with a private bedroom and well-appointed kitchen at either end. The central spiral staircase leads to the second story patio and rotated third container with wall-sized windows at either end that blur the barrier between the bedrooms and the forest that surrounds them.

“We worried they would look boring side by side, so I played around with the design. When we considered options for the second story, I knew the containers were designed to be stacked and I could turn the top container and still support the weight. Then I just tweaked it here and there to try to line up the plumbing,” she said modestly. “The bedrooms would be a little smaller due to the width of the containers, but I knew we could work with that by bringing the outdoors in. The windows open the bedrooms to all of the seasons we have in Ohio.”

The result is stunning and unmistakable. The steel and glass that should contrast the terrain mysteriously complement it. And at the right time of day, the reflection of the pines in those over-sized windows makes what remains almost disappear into the tree line like postmodern camouflage. If you somehow combined Henry David Thoreau’s reverence for the natural world with Frank Lloyd Wright’s esoteric style, it would surely look a lot like The Box Hop. It’s Walden meets Fallingwater.

“We’ve had a lot of folks ask us if we’d ever sell the place. But for us, it’s personal,” Seth confessed. “We spent countless hours designing every aspect, and it’s still a vacation home for our family and to come with our friends.”

Anticipated additions to The Box Top include suspended seating and an outdoor shower to complete the existing patio area and hot tub, as well as a large-scale mural on the exterior that references and reinforces the emerging brand — all elements that were deferred due to construction delays. The couple coyly hinted that another container getaway isn’t out of the question. With more than 18 acres available, the additional location would offer the same privacy as the original, but with its own unique charm and character.

“For now, we don’t want to disrupt our guests with chainsaws clearing a landing spot for another house,” Emily laughed. “But we also didn’t expect to book up so quickly.” ▩

For details on The Box Hop, visit theboxhop.com

February 4, 2019

Willing to Say Anything

Originally published in the February 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

If actors are fortunate, they’re remembered for one film that epitomizes the angst, anxiety, and aspirations of a generation. John Cusack has a career full of them. From cult to iconic, acclaimed to obscure, it’s perhaps impossible to overstate his influence or put him in a box.

Indelible ensemble performances in Sixteen Candles and Stand by Me, along with leading roles in The Sure Thing and Better Off Dead, earned Cusack an early reputation as a relatable and reliable talent just as the prospects for many of his teen comedy contemporaries were flaming out after puberty.

Then came Say Anything, which remains the anthem for every misfit who’s punched above his weight, and every girl who’s fallen for the one guy her friends and parents dismissed.

Cusack could have quit at the end of the credits and we’d still be talking about Lloyd Dobler and his boombox 30 years later. But instead of subpar sequels, he offered a second act we rarely see — one built on personal passion, purposeful projects, and the crisis of conscience that closely parallels the teen rite of passage.

“I had the luxury to work in film when it was a little less corporate. People who ran the studios were individuals. They would have a portfolio they’d take to shareholders and say, ‘Here are our tent-pole films’,” Cusack explained. “But they had six or seven movies a year they would give to artists they liked. I got to make Grosse Pointe Blank and High Fidelity, Spike Lee got to make Summer of Sam, and Wes Anderson got to make Rushmore. It was because of the tastes of a guy named Joe Roth who ran Fox, and ran Disney. We never had to beg for money, and we never had to protect the cuts.”

Even if not for Roth’s old school style and reluctance to treat test market screenings as more than just another metric, Cusack also wrote and coproduced Grosse Pointe Blank and High Fidelity. Wearing multiple hats in Hollywood doesn’t always mean you get your way. But at the time, Cusack’s artistic vision and authority on both films were nearly absolute.

“I sort of bridged the gap between the 60s and 70s filmmaking culture and from about 2000 on when the film companies became a very, very, small fraction of these multinational corporations,” he recalled. “All I had to do for those movies was tell Joe, ‘We’re going to shoot this in 48 days.’ I wasn’t going to go a day over schedule or waste any of his money. We didn’t have to deal with financiers or studio interference. I never felt like any film I made with Joe was compromised artistically. It was a different era.”

Cusack has an impressive history of prophetic films that seemed to predict everything from the rise of mixed martial arts to the renaissance of vinyl records. And even though politics can be polarizing, his films never shy away from them.

The vilification of the gun lobby in Runaway Jury and his clever critique of military contracting in War, Inc. were both well ahead of the curve. Even Cusack’s cameos and contributing roles are often scene stealing, and frequent collaborations with friend and colleague Tim Robbins tend to be among the most subtle and subversive. With each passing day, Bob Roberts seems less like a satire and more like a documentary from the future.

Have his outspoken opinions closed some doors, or opened others? If so, he hasn’t noticed, and doubts any such differences or decisions run that deep. Much like his earlier characters, Cusack still isn’t worried about winning a high school popularity contest or becoming prom king.

“Hollywood financiers have become far more shallow and the ethics are so transactional, I don’t think people pay attention long enough to consider politics as much as what’s hot right now,” he opined. “But I’ve always been pretty consistent about needing to say what you feel and the need to put provocative stuff, dangerous stuff into art.”

Cusack’s characters are often an everyman at odds with the status quo, though he can still pull off the affable anti-hero — as a serial grifter, a contract killer, and a political assassin. But Cusack is also an underrated chameleon, having transformed into a surprising range of real-life characters, from Nelson Rockefeller in Cradle Will Rock and Edgar Allen Poe in The Raven to Richard Nixon in Lee Daniels’ The Butler and Brian Wilson in Love & Mercy. Inhabiting someone else’s skin is a challenge and responsibility he doesn’t take lightly.

“If a person is alive like Brian, I just hung out with him and his wife as much as I could. That part of his life wasn’t as public as the first part of the life. He was basically a Beatle. He was on tour, they were making videos, he was recording nonstop, and then he went into the abyss for a while. People didn’t know him when he came out of it in his 40s, or that part of his life,” Cusack revealed. “You immerse yourself in a character. Obviously Edgar Allen Poe and Richard Nixon aren’t going to give you any notes. But I hope the real-life characters I’ve played represent the essence of them, the spirit of them. You don’t want to do a literal imitation, but you hope you capture some part of them that’s eternal.”

With the advent of streaming services and digital downloads, Cusack’s earlier work is connecting with new fans, often the children of those who came of age in the 80s and 90s. And though some actors may cringe at the prospect of their earlier endeavors becoming easier to find and effectively lasting forever, the timelessness of Cusack’s films, old and new, still rings true.

“There’s a great story about one of my favorite films, Sweet Smell of Success. It came out and got savage reviews. People can’t see new art when it comes out. So it sat on a shelf until someone at WGN said, ‘We have this Burt Lancaster/Tony Curtis movie. Why don’t we start playing it?” It got a cult following being screened at 10 o’clock or midnight on,” Cusack explained. “Then Barry Levinson had one of the characters in Diner quoting from the movie all the time. It finally started to get looked at again, and it’s a classic. It’s easily considered Lancaster and Curtis’ best work, but it was gone for 30 years. Now, you can’t kill a film. No matter what you do to a film, it’s going to find its audience sooner or later.” ▩

CAPA will be presenting a live Q&A with John Cusack following a screening of High Fidelity at the Palace Theatre on February 15.

Visit www.capa.com for details and ticket information.

January 4, 2019

Capeless Crusader

Originally published in the January 2019 issue of (614) Magazine

Carter Stewart isn’t your average crimefighter, and he’ll surely shun the description as much as he defies the stereotype.

Following a career watching broken systems contribute to incarceration, the former US Attorney for the Southern District of Ohio left government service to become a full-time mentor for the social enterprise sector. Riding a borrowed desk at the Columbus Foundation, he’s a one-man Midwest outpost for the Draper Richards Kaplan Foundation, recruited and charged with identifying worthy causes and applying Silicon Valley ingenuity to philanthropy-focused businesses — all to the tune of more than $100 million.

Imagine if instead of investing in capes and cowls, Bruce Wayne spent a fortune funding innovative approaches to solving long-standing injustices?

Not exactly cinematic, but far more effective. And it’s also more fundamental than simply fighting crime; it’s addressing the underlying circumstances that foster it. The shortage of services, access, and advocacy are all predictable indicators for both victims and perpetrators. Equipped with the insights and instincts of a prosecutor weary of always being on the receiving end of avoidable tragedies, Stewart shares his experience and expertise with fellow do-gooders, guiding them from shaky startups to scalable success.

We first met a few months back at Roosevelt Coffeehouse, itself an anchor for the local social enterprise movement. Overdue for a follow-up cup, we discussed the future of “purpose beyond profits” and why Columbus is the perfect incubator for ideas that really could change the world.

A career in criminal justice isn’t the typical résumé for a social justice champion. You’ve seen the world through an entirely different lens than most foundations. How has your work as a US Attorney informed your search for solutions through social enterprise?

It’s not uncommon to leave law to go into the nonprofit sphere, but it is uncommon to leave prosecution. The only other US Attorney I know who has done it is in Pittsburgh. I actually surveyed colleagues at the DOJ to see if anyone else had done this, and he was the only one. My desire to help is based on what I’ve seen as a prosecutor as much as my childhood experiences growing up in the South, in Atlanta. So many of the people my office prosecuted came from broken systems — school systems that weren’t adequate, housing situations that were poor. So many people in state and local jails suffer from mental health issues, addiction issues. I felt that if we could fix those broken systems, it would reduce the number of people who end up in the criminal justice system.

Social media and social enterprise seem to have come of age at the same time. There’s not a mutual dependency, but an undeniably growing parallel between purpose and purchase. What trends in digital connectivity distinguish successful social enterprises from those that fizzle out?

I can’t say there’s one pattern, but there is recognition of the importance of social media, especially for start-up organizations that don’t have a big budget and want to spread the word as far and wide as possible. Everyone we fund has to have a website. It sounds obvious, but they have to have something up and running. But we still have some organizations that are spread more by word of mouth. ROX, Ruling Our Experiences, is an excellent example. It’s a program that teaches girls leadership, entrepreneurship, self-defense, self-awareness. The 20-week program is spread, mostly in-person, by the founder, Dr. Lisa Hinkelman, speaking at conferences to school counselors — who then Google it. It’s the second bite at the apple. They hear from her first, then they learn more online and decide it’s something they want to pursue. But our organizations aren’t limited to the US, and some are dependent on social media to work. We have an organization based in Uganda called BarefootLaw. All of the lawyers are in the capital city of Kampala, but most of the people live in rural areas. So when they have legal issues, they use Facebook messaging to connect to BarefootLaw. It wouldn’t exist without that platform. So it’s a mix. Some rely on it, and for others it’s secondary. But where it’s critical for everyone is funders, who are more likely to research an organization before contacting it directly. They don’t want to raise hopes or expectations too early. It’s interwoven and social entrepreneurs recognize that.

There can be friction between traditional nonprofits and social enterprises serving the same cause. Ideally, raising awareness creates a larger pie, and everyone gets a bigger slice. How should social enterprises answer the concern that they’re competing for the same donors and dollars?

There is a perspective among some funders that there are too many nonprofits — to solve education, to solve poverty. Instead of creating new ones, we should improve and, perhaps in some cases, combine the ones that we have. There’s a degree of creation exhaustion. I happen to disagree. You need constant creation and rebirth, new ideas cycling in. Traditional nonprofits that have never considered the social enterprise model might feel threatened by that new entity going after the same funding dollars. In an ideal world, the new entity inspires the older entity to change and to grow. I consider the YMCA one of the oldest social enterprises in the country because they have a revenue stream. You pay for membership. So even though most nonprofits haven’t had that revenue stream, social enterprises have been around. It’s just been a small slice. I haven’t heard traditional nonprofits wishing social enterprises would go away as much as how can they be more like them and less dependent on philanthropic capital. And I think social enterprises can learn from nonprofits, their leadership structures and governance models. It’s a dynamic evolution that will hopefully lift everyone up.

Traditional businesses can also feel threatened by social enterprises. We don’t just vote every four years for president and every two years for Congress. We vote every day with our wallets. How do both kinds of businesses build brands that inspire their customers to become agents of change?

That competition should help businesses recognize the importance of having a second bottom line. Maybe not a social mission, but a mindset of corporate citizenship. That’s what drives people to Roosevelt Coffeehouse. They know when they spend money, the company does good things with it. It’s a brand they feel good supporting. TOMS Shoes is a classic example — you buy one and they give one. Not all tension is bad, and there can be positive creative tension between traditional businesses and social enterprises. Draper Richards Kaplan has someone on staff with whom we connect all of our entrepreneurs, to understand that communications is how you reach people, but branding is more, and an essential part of our process. Some folks come with more savvy than others, but in addition to helping build capacity they’re also building a brand. It’s something you should do in the early stages of your organization, so it becomes ingrained in your DNA.

The Midwest often gets overlooked when it comes to venture capital, despite our academic credibility, technological capacity, and desirable test market demographics. What does the Draper Richards Kaplan Foundation see in Columbus that many still miss?

We’re a particular type of donor. Not all donors look for what we look for, most don’t. Most foundations I know won’t fund an organization unless they’ve been around for four or five years. And they don’t always look for organizations with the potential to scale. They look for organizations that are well-run, already likely to survive, and succeeding in their mission. We look for organizations at an earlier stage, those that have finished a pilot and want to go big. Not just Columbus, but in Cleveland, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Chicago, maybe nationwide. We look for ideas that have the potential to disrupt, to change broken systems, and not many funders share that desire. But in Columbus, there’s a hunger for it. Social enterprise is a buzzword, and they’ve been in Columbus for years before I got here. But 75 percent of funding still goes to the east coast and the west coast, and that’s a huge oversight. People were looking for mechanisms to get national funding to Central Ohio, to build and scale the organizations that are here and those just getting started. There’s a synergy between governments and businesses, nonprofits and social enterprises. It’s an enthusiasm and pride many on the coasts don’t realize is here. I was once one of those people. I lived in New York and California. It was my wife who decided we were moving to Columbus 13 years ago, and I still tell people it’s the best decision I never made. ▩

For more on social enterprises and the Draper Richards Kaplan Foundation, visit drkfoundation.org

December 17, 2018

Secret Ingredient

Originally published in the Winter 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel

Amid the monotony of formulaic fast casuals, Sweet Carrot exceeds expectations with every bite. Refined, yet whimsical, their fascination with corn cakes and smoked meat despite an industry of imitation obsessed with buns and bowls isn’t just daring. It reinvented Southern cuisine with a downhome flare that’s downright defiant.

Perhaps that’s because founder Angela Petro is cast against type, as both a restaurateur and an entrepreneur. She’s not Gordon Ramsey barking orders and berating the staff, nor some smug, Silicon Valley visionary constantly pitching the next big thing. Petro actually stumbled into Sweet Carrot neither by design nor necessity. The impulsive purchase of a food truck as a mobile R&D platform for her decades-old catering company proved so unexpectedly popular when it launched at the Columbus Arts Festival, a permanent location became all but inevitable.

The original in Grandview was an instant hit at the old Rife’s Market, but the second at Polaris was slow to take off. So the third in Dublin has focused on what restaurant patrons increasingly expect, a conscientious kitchen with menu options for everyone, regardless of dietary restrictions or preferences. It’s still fast casual, but with a thoughtful, artistic take on comfort food destined to grow beyond Central Ohio.

“It all came together as a curated experience. I would say it was fortuitous, at a time when I was starting to explore this kernel of an idea,” recalled Petro, whose established enterprise Two Caterers had reached a pivotal point. “When we started, we were doing simple drop-off lunches. But as we pushed ourselves, we became thought of as a high-end catering company, with creative presentation at a competitive price.”

In those early days, Petro wasn’t just wearing a proverbial chef’s hat. She was taking orders, working the kitchen, making deliveries, often serving her creations on-site, and washing the dishes at the end of the day. Eventually, the boutique catering business that landed a few big gigs had become something rewarding, but still unintended.

“My background is blue-collar. I grew up never having catering, and that’s where most of us live. But people still have parties, they still have a need. Every now and then, you need help with food, but you aren’t throwing a $30k graduation party or a $60k wedding. I still had that feeling we weren’t really serving the market that we set out to service.”

Unable to shake the perception as a prohibitively-priced caterer for many, and uncertain any amount of marketing would change popular opinion, Petro envisioned a sister brand that would capture that long lost clientele.

“Everyone contributed ideas to what we could roll out on our food truck — our sales team, kitchen staff, and our chefs. It bolstered this thought that we could go after this market of folks in Central Ohio who wanted wholesome food at a price they could afford, without someone in a bowtie wearing white gloves holding a silver tray,” she recalled. “That’s how Sweet Carrot started.”

The commitment to creative comfort food has always been a true community project. One of her chefs pitched the idea of savory corn cakes as a base, and brisket and pulled pork from the commercial smoker Petro picked up at auction were the perfectly decadent, working class complement. Their signature corn salsa, adapted from the recipe repertoire of staff member’s family potlucks, has become a ubiquitous condiment. Even the name came by way of a friend whose knack for word play was among many happy accidents.

“He sent me an email that said, ‘Did you know Sweet Carrot is an anagram of Two Caterers?’,” she chided. “So that became the name of our food truck, even before we knew what we planned to serve.”

The result is a menu that is neither seasonal, nor static, and adapting to customer expectations. Their corn cakes are gluten-free, their slaw is dairy-free, and vegetarians aren’t the only ones swooning over their fried artichokes — a callback to that first Columbus Arts Festival where they were cleverly sold as “fried arts”. And much like any credible country kitchen, little goes to waste, with yesterday’s brisket and pork becoming today’s Brunswick stew, chicken meatballs joining kale and black-eyed eyes in tomorrow’s soup. Even the leftover mac and cheese is coated in breadcrumbs from leftover rolls and flash fried to preserve their gooey goodness.

Petro admits she’s been the beneficiary of both luck and good fortune along the way, from a tiny little lunch company to a beloved local food truck that prompted patrons visiting Columbus for the Country Living Fair to personally plead her to open an outpost in their hometowns too. Even the name Sweet Carrot and its origin are metaphors for what great restaurants do best, turning existing ingredients into something completely new and unexpected.

“I believe in this brand, and never conceived of it as a one-off. When we opened the first Sweet Carrot, I struggled creatively to try to find the guardrails, to keep it as something that could be a multi-unit restaurant,” she recalled. “I wanted everything and the kitchen sink. When we first opened, I had a wine section and wanted to have a small market with products packaged to take home. If I’d opened it as a single location, it would have been a very different concept.”

The character of Rife’s Market was both a blessing and a curse. Petro and a team of staff and friends were sanding tables and painting the walls themselves. But the design and layout were more intuitive than intentional, setting a high bar for replicating the aesthetic at additional locations with less inherent character. Though Polaris was ambitious and demographically desirable, the new Dublin spot reveals the maturity of a brand ready to break out of Columbus.

“This third iteration is not the end, because there’s so much we’re going to learn. So though it is tempting, and exciting, and flattering to think about opening another location, it’s also the right time to pause,” she noted. “We’ve opened two restaurants this year, as a very tiny company, and we are definitely looking to keep expanding and evolving. We’re small, but mighty.” ▩

To find the nearest Sweet Carrot, or check out their catering or special diets menus, visit sweetcarrot.com

December 13, 2018

Barbershop Quintet

Originally published in the December 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

The foremost fear of many musicians is failing to fill a room, and rightly so. The club circuit is cutthroat, and light ticket sales and lackluster turnout can easily kill a band’s future before it even begins.

Empty seats are hardly a concern at the most exclusive live music venue in Columbus, where the audiences rarely outnumber the performers and it’s typically standing room only.

That’s because it’s not a basement bar or small stage. It’s a barbershop.

Jim Morris might surprise you as the proprietor of a place called The Mug & Brush. With his wavy white mane and robust beard, he looks like someone who hasn’t seen the inside of a barbershop in a while, not the owner of one. (Two in fact, between the original in the Old North neighborhood between campus and Clintonville, and now an equally quaint second location in Gahanna.)

But as the creator of an indie music series shot on a shoestring that has acts lining up to get in, his relaxed locks and attitude are entirely on brand.

“We started with a couple of prototype sessions with The Floorwalkers and Nick D’ and the Believers. Even before that, I’d asked just about every video and sound guy who came through the shop about the project,” Morris recalled. “I’d cut Keith’s hair for about ten years, but hadn’t seen him recently because he was growing his hair long. He stopped by and I told him about the idea. That’s how I finally hooked up with the crew.”

Keith Hanlon is exactly what you’d expect from a seasoned sound guy. As a producer and audio engineer, he’s as adept at booking the bands as he is running the board in a recording studio that’s far more complex than just a warm old room with high ceilings. Hanlon is affable and technical, intent on isolating each performer’s voice and instrument with assuring precision, despite the odd mix of textures and street traffic.

“The biggest issue I have is bleed onto the vocal mics. It depends on how loud the drummer is,” Hanlon quipped, himself a drummer. “As we’ve progressed, we’ve gone from a pieced together PA system for monitors to a decent USB mixer and enough equipment accumulated along the way to create a studio feel that still sounds live.”

“It began with a few friends and bands we knew, like Birdshack and Righteous Buck. They agreed sight unseen, it was a leap of faith,” Morris revealed. “They didn’t know the crew or exactly what it was all about, but they said, “We’re in,” anyway. Within six months, bands were calling us.”

Though The Mug & Brush Sessions is a music series, don’t mistake it for a podcast. It’s decidedly cinematic, with multiple cameras and a balance of shots that never looks or sounds sanitized or slick. With angles and close ups as high and tight as a haircut, it’s raw and refined at the same time.

“We do several takes, but we don’t intercut. Sometimes you’ll pick up something only one person will notice,” Hanlon explained. “You may see it on the performers face, but we’ll just let it go and use another shot. I’d rather have an imperfect performance than lose the magic.”

Getting a big sound out of a small space isn’t easy on either side of board. Bands used to playing for hundreds, perhaps thousands also have to scale down their performance to the intimate surroundings. Engineering can also prove imperfect, amplified by the occasional OS update with unintended consequences.

“Things break down, and an update can render a piece of equipment useless. Doc Robinson had eight performers, the most we’ve ever had in the room. I could still use the mixer, I just couldn’t record from it,” Hanlon explained. He ended up cobbling a couple of pieces of equipment together to manage the monitors and capture the recording, syncing the 10-channel session afterward. “It was the only way we could do it. Sometimes, you just have to make it work.”

Though there is a bent toward indie rock and Americana, there are definitely no limits on genre. From local folks who have earned audiences beyond Columbus, like Lydia Loveless and Josh Krajcik, to the EDM of Damn the Witch Siren and spunk rock darlings Cherry Chrome.

“I’d like to see more of the less frequent genres we’ve had, like Blueprint and Dominique Larue,” Morris recalled. “We also had a chamber music string quartet once, Carpe Diem.”

“We try to book acts with musical diversity and diversity in general. I’d love to have a Somali or Latino group, something you won’t find outside those communities,” Hanlon followed.

As a Midwest crossroads, their relationship with Natalie’s, proximity to the Newport, and pipeline from Nashville has also yielded some unexpected acts for The Mug & Brush Sessions.

“We’ve had Peter Case, and Califone, and Greg Trooper, though there are so many local acts, we really don’t have to look outside Columbus,” noted Hanlon. “I’d love to get Michael Hurley. He’s always playing at Nelsonville Music Festival and up at Natalie’s.”

Beyond the bands, the real genius of the show is how scalable and shareable it is. Shot on the same DSLR platform favored by independent filmmakers, it feels authentic without being claustrophobic. Hosted on YouTube instead of some hyper-restrictive or homespun solution, it’s easy to send to a friend with a click. For many bands, it’s become a measure of credibility or a professional milestone, like the local equivalent of an appearance on Austin City Limits or MTV Unplugged.

It’s also just as easy to watch it on a television screen as a smartphone or computer. Performances also hold up on even bigger screens, occasionally featured at Mojoflo’s Music Video Mondays at the Gateway Film Center. The stripped down style of the sessions actually succeeds where most music videos fail, transporting the audience to a live performance, as though they’re sitting right there in a barber chair between Jim and Keith, taking it all in.

“We’re creating an archive of the Columbus music scene we hope will still be relevant decades from now. But that wasn’t exactly our original intent. We just wanted to feature local musicians in a new way,” Morris noted. “When we started, I hoped we might make it to 100 episodes. But now that we’re five years in, who knows. Maybe we can make it to ten?” ▩

For a complete archive of The Mug & Brush Sessions, visit themugandbrushsessions.com

December 13, 2018

Second Story

Originally published in the December 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

There’s no perfect formula for connecting artists and audiences, much to the dismay of musicians, promoters, and the fans they fail to rope into their orbit. But if there were one, the secret ingredient that distinguishes nuisance from noise would probably be the venue itself.

Maybe that’s why mindful musicians and their faithful followers are driving in droves to a former furniture store out in Newark for craft beer and cocktails before settling in for shows that defy expectations at any decibel.

Unlike an aging arena or basement bar, Thirty One West was built for music, back in the days when Newark was known as “Little Chicago” for its robust theater scene. But after decades of decline, like most medium-sized Midwest towns, the satellite city has been torn between playing second fiddle to a tempting metropolis just over the horizon or forging its own destination identity. The dance hall days are over. Fire claimed some, neglect got the rest — all but this one that happened to find a second life as a low-frills furniture store waiting to be rediscovered.

“During construction, we did a series called the Ballroom Revival Sessions. We wanted to share with folks where we were in the process and were eager to have music in the space and hear how it sounded,” explained Tom Atha, champion of Newark’s own larger revival and a familiar face for anyone who’s ever been to Thirty One West.

The Church Street “project” as it became locally known includes a barbecue joint, a yoga studio, a play café, and an art space featuring Atha’s alma mater Denison University. But the second story live concert venue and street level bar are the jewels in this downtown crown of urban renewal. Atha also operates Earthwork Recording Studio down the block, so creating a small space feel despite the enormity of the undertaking was always a priority.

“We started inviting friends in to perform, but also offer an update on construction. It allowed us to do some interviews and gather insights from artists on what they look for in a venue,” he recalled. “With someone like Sean Rowe, we were really curious about his interest in house shows, and how could a larger venue still capture the intimacy of a house show. It helped us share what we were doing and get some music out there before we even had the doors open.”

It didn’t take long for word to get out that there was something special about the acoustical street cred of their quirky old ballroom with a bar in both the basement and the balcony. That’s why acts that could play anywhere are reconnecting with their roots at a venue that brings artists and audiences together. From the growling blues of Taj Mahal to the jazz-funk fusion of Spyro Gyra, performers seeking something kindred in a place that is both old and new have taken notice.

“For me, the biggest part of choosing a venue is whether the audience can hear the show as we intend it. You don’t want it loud, and reverberant, and noisy. I really prefer to have a listening environment,” revealed Steven Page, who played his first gig at Thirty One West in October. The former front man for Barenaked Ladies knows what makes a room and an audience both hum. “I’m pretty aware of the fact that my audience isn’t 22 anymore. They’re not going to want to come see me and stand on a concrete floor for five hours.”

Many musicians often have only rudimentary information about a venue before playing there for the first time — city, capacity, and little else. Bookers and promoters schedule the shows. One delivers the talent, the other the audience. But when artists are impressed by the right place, or turned off, everyone tends to hear about it.

“Lots of artists compare notes, especially the horror stories. You’ll always remember the really terrible ones. But if there’s a new venue opening up in town, or one that’s developing a new reputation, you automatically share those experiences with other musicians,” Page noted. “I’ll go to my agent and say I really want to play there again. And that helps get more acts booked there as well.”

Every venue has a different vibe, and Thirty One West seems to occupy the fabled Goldilocks zone right in the middle, large enough to achieve critical mass, yet small enough for the shared experience not to get lost.

“If a room is acoustically dead, some songs won’t have the same kind of expansive feeling they would in a more lively room. And if a venue is really noisy, it’s harder for us to hear ourselves onstage. If notes go out and wash around the room, we may have to choose songs that require less precision. The strokes are broader,” Page explained. “There’s a song that we do some nights, an old Barenaked Ladies song called Break Your Heart. If the room feels right and sounds right, and the audience is engaged, it becomes this perfect storm. I’ll do it incredibly intimately, if I feel like my voice is going to carry in that room. I’d like to do it every night, but I’d blow my voice out. So it’s the kind of performance you only get if the room can support it.”

The ballroom doesn’t necessarily look like what you might expect from that moniker. There aren’t velvet curtains or a punch bowl at the end of the room for thirsty wallflowers. Instead, there’s an expansive wooden dance floor that resonates with each note with a mix of modest tables and chairs. Yet the room is so tuned in, there’s actually a sign in balcony warning patrons to mind their voices, as the acoustics carry conversations all the way down to the stage.

“Sometimes we’ll play in a place that’s really ornate, like an old church, or a venue that seems really dressy, and you can tell an audience is intimidated by that. They aren’t as expressive right off the bat, so you have to work a little harder for them to feel less self-conscious, let go, and enjoy the show. I like those challenges. Honestly, I like having to work for every bit of applause. It’s easy to take it for granted,” explained Page. “If the room is right, the audience is at ease. That’s when unpredictable things happen. We have the freedom to mix up of the set list, or an encore. Someone may shout out a request we haven’t prepared or played as a trio, and we’ll try it out anyway.”

This is where Thirty One West really ups the ante on venues, and is a credible threat for the predictable digs folks are used to in Columbus. They know the room so artists are also at ease, tuning their tech like the whole building was one giant instrument instead of turning everything up to 11 and hoping for the best.

“The folks at Thirty One West told us it was the first time for a lot of people there at the show, so hopefully connecting with a new clientele will help build that core audience. For us, the staff and crew were great, easy to work with from the monitors to the PAs. They were helpful and hands on and really knew how to work their equipment,” Page revealed. “That’s a big difference. Sometimes you go into a place and that’s not the case. But when you work with people who know the room, it makes our job so much easier, knowing we can go on stage relaxed and that the audience will hear the show as it should be.”

Even so, old habits are tough to break with some tours that tend to look past smaller shows or locales, despite the increased attention from performers and their patrons.

“It could be daunting initially to attract acts that are used to playing right in Columbus. We thought it was a really beautiful building, aesthetically and acoustically. That’s what’s going to win them over. It’s such a great listening room — without being precious about it,” Page opined. “I remember playing a couple of gigs over the years, places where they actually shush people if they talk. I feel I have to earn people’s quiet. But if it’s a talky room, maybe it’s because audiences can’t hear us as well. Everyone here was relaxed, enthusiastic, and into the show. That’s what the right venue can do. It’s not just the building, it’s the audience it attracts.”

However, the ballroom is only part of what distinguishes Thirty One West from your typical concert hall. It’s about building that elusive connection between artists and audiences into something that doesn’t fade away after the encore.

“We started the 31 Club when we launched, which is our $100 membership. The idea was to embrace our core audience, get feedback, offer some cool perks, and create a relationship and a dialogue to know how we were doing. We do member appreciation shows, there are discounts at our bar, discounts on our merch, we open access to ticket sales early, and give away tickets via lottery,” Atha explained. “This past year, we extended our memberships to include a Season Pass at the $500 level. That includes two general admission tickets to every show for the calendar year. You still get all of the perks of the 31 Club, plus a couple of tickets to each show.”

Imagine buying concert tickets like Netflix instead of going to Blockbuster back in the day. Instead of only going to see the bands you know, you’re more likely to discover new ones — and that’s kind of the point.

“Folks were coming out to shows they never would have otherwise. If we have enough members who do that, we can take bigger risks as a music venue, and do a better job curating, if we know there is a core audience to support it,” Atha revealed.

Thirty One West also created the Stereogram Sessions, bringing two musicians into the studio separately, laying down four or five tracks, pressing each session to a side, and hosting a vinyl release party featuring both of the artists.

“It marries both of my endeavors in downtown Newark together. But there was another challenge we were also trying to solve. We’ve had success bringing in national talent, but we’ve had a harder time booking acts from Columbus because audiences can see them there anytime,” Atha explained. “So that’s where the idea was born, let’s give Columbus audiences an excuse to come here to see a Columbus act by offering a different experience. We’re a listening room, so we appreciate when music is valued in a focused way. Vinyl accomplishes that in a way digital streaming can’t and ties our performances at Thirty One West to a permanent product.”

Luckily, you don’t have to wait for the next show or a vinyl release to stop by the street-level bar below the ballroom

“The Bootlegger was created and branded as its own space, because it’s open whether or not there is a concert,” Atha explained. “We never charge admission for events at the Bootlegger. It gives us a connection to the community and a great place to vet talent as potential openers for future shows.”

Locals are still discovering Thirty One West, but so are folks from surrounding cities and states, slowly building that loyal base of patrons and supporters competing venues will surely envy.

“We still have first timers coming through our doors all the time, but we’re starting to build that core audience we’ve always wanted. But people are still coming here to see the bands, so we do everything we can to treat them well,” Atha noted. “That feedback that makes it back to the booking agencies or management is what sets us apart. It’s why we get calls for shows routing through Ohio wanting to try someplace new. It’s still a hard pitch, but it’s why artist feedback on what we do differently is essential — and we try to knock it out of the park with every show.” ▩

For details on upcoming shows at Thirty One West, or to see their Ballroom Revival Sessions, visit thirtyone-west.com

November 10, 2018

Game On

Originally published in the 2018 issue of (614) FAMILY

Game nights are increasingly popping up at bars and breweries, and not just trivia. Old school board games and their modern-day descendants tap into the social necessity for competition. But parents are left out of the intersection of beer and board games as much as their kids—unless you head to Tabletop Game Cafe in Clintonville, a place that finally brings pints and half pints together.

With more than 500 games in their enviable inventory, offering the opportunity to “try before you buy”, owner and parent Aaron Brown wanted to create a destination for families as well as adults. But it’s not always about competition.

“We have more than 20 cooperative games where everyone is on the same team playing against the game. I recommend those to a lot of families with mixed-age kids,” he explained. “That way the kids aren’t playing each other on an uneven field. With cooperative games, they’re all working together.”

Imagine a play cafe, but for older kids, their peers, and parents. It’s genuinely multigenerational, which lots of so-called “family” activities really aren’t. Most relegate adults to simply a supervisory role. Tabletop is analog and interactive for everyone. It’s about disconnecting, and reconnecting.

For a minimum purchase of $6 per adult between food, beverage, and retail sales, you can pull up a stool and get your game on. Kids under 13 are even included with a grownup. Food options are fresh and better than your average bar fare, from hot sandwiches and espresso drinks to sweet and savory empanadas. There are also three dozen local and regional beers from which to choose between drafts, bottles, and cans, also a better selection than most bars.

“I love Argentinian empanadas because they’re the perfect gaming food. They’re small enough to hold in one hand and eat while you play,” he explained. “We started with those, but added deli sandwiches and some more snacks over time.”

Just because beer and board games go together, that doesn’t mean there isn’t any bureaucracy. Tabletop opened in September of 2016, but couldn’t add alcohol sales until the following February.

“Because Clintonville is a local option area, I had to collect signatures for a liquor license—twice. The first time, they discounted about 20 signatures and we ended up seven short. So I had to do it all again six months later to get on the ballot,” he recalled. “We had plenty of support once there was a vote. People understand Clintonville isn’t going to turn into campus anytime soon.”

Board games aren’t always about skill. There’s still a lot of luck, and the same is true of most businesses, occasionally serving a surprise clientele.

“We have tons of families who come in, including grandparents. But an unexpected demographic that we really appeal to is divorced parents who have weekend visitation with their kids—particularly dads and daughters,” Brown noted. “Board games don’t really have a presumed gender like a lot of activities. If you ask people what mothers and daughters do together, or what fathers and sons do together, you’re going to get a long list. But I didn’t realize how effective games are at crossing a multigenerational gender divide. We have regulars who come in on the weekends, with the time they have together, and they bond over board games.”

Games offer academic and developmental benefits, more tangible and tacit than the scholarly abstractions of game theorists. From math and science to history and geography, games can stretch the brain—tapping into popular culture, without becoming a monoculture. (Though it doesn’t hurt to have Stranger Things introduce a new generation to Dungeons & Dragons.)

“We have two kids who are academically doing great, and I attribute a lot of that to the board games we play, and how much they played growing up,” he opined. “It’s a learning experience, but they’re having fun. Homework can be a chore, but you can incorporate many of the same skills into a game, and all of a sudden kids want to do it.”

Board games also create opportunities for children and young adults who may struggle with sports or other common adolescent activities due to mobility challenges and disabilities which aren’t always obvious.

“We have several groups of kids on the (autism) spectrum who come here, and I love sharing games with that community. For kids who have trouble figuring out social cues, they often understand games really well because it’s a strict rule set,” he revealed. “These kids can interact with each other over a game and they have a great time. I think it’s important for them to have an opportunity to succeed and show their strengths to each other.”

Like any new pursuit, there’s always some apprehension. Brown doesn’t expect his staff to know the minutia of every game, just have a good grasp of a handful of go-to options for first-time families or those who may need a nudge in the right direction.

“On a Saturday night, there are groups of people, cracking up, and having a good time. One roll changes the whole game, and the table explodes,” Brown explained. “We have couples and families who come here to meet up with friends and try something new, who then become regulars. It’s an energy and an atmosphere you’re not going to get just playing at home.” ▩

For a complete list of games available and upcoming events, visit tabletopgamecafe.com

WHAT MAKES A PERFECT GAME NIGHT?

Aaron Brown isn’t just a guy who love games. He understands what makes a great game night and what makes a game great, having become a frequent source of insight for would-be game creators as they refine their ideas and seek investors.

Board games, not bored games

“I love games in which every turn you have to make a decision, there is something to do, you can make some mistakes early and recover later, and games you can teach in about 15 minutes and finish in about an hour.”

It’s okay to keep it simple

“I don’t need a super complicated game. I like to have several games over a game night. If you play one game for six hours, you probably only have one winner. But if you play three or four games, you can have multiple victors, and everyone gets to figure out what kind of games they like.”

Something for everyone

“If you play just one game and someone doesn’t like it, that’s their whole night. If everyone loves a game, you can always play it again. If not, you can try something new. Everyone isn’t going to like every game, so having different kinds of games increases the odds that everyone will find one they really enjoy.”

October 4, 2018

Dare to Scare

Originally published in the October 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

Keith Newsom, aka Snappy the Clown, has been performing at local haunts for years
Photo by Brian Kaiser

No one plans months in advance what to wear to a Christmas party. That’s why Halloween has quickly become the favorite holiday for those tired of turkey and averse to eggnog. The trend is more than seasonal—it’s cultural.

Horror movies are hotter than ever, and Netflix and Amazon are clamoring to greenlight projects that once would have withered. Originally an outlier, AMC’s The Walking Dead routinely draws more viewers than all NFL games combined. Even Jo-Ann starts stocking shelves in July with spiders and skulls long before the last of the fireworks fade.

Despite your costume cred, stitch witchery, and amateur pumpkin craft, haunted house operators are way ahead of you. For a few weeks a year, their long lines and theatrical thrills pack them in. But what goes on behind the scenes has largely remained an industry mystery—until now.

The indie documentary SCARE rips the mask off “haunted attractions,” the technical term for live performance venues that defy your sense of reality, and occasionally control of your bladder. Columbus filmmaker Don Patterson “shot and chopped” the project over more than a decade, culminating with the final season of a local landmark of terror, the ScareAtorium.

“There’s so much more to this than just building a haunted house. You’ve got actor training, and make-up artists, and scene decorators,” explained Kelly Collins. He and his wife Neena founded the Midwest Haunters Convention, the country’s largest gathering for operators and enthusiasts, bringing standards and insight to the industry. “There’s more to a haunted house than handing someone a mask and saying, ‘Here, go scream at people.’”

For those who still tremble from memories of Terror Park at the old Cooper Stadium, Frightmore Manor in Dublin, and The Northland Asylum and RIP’s 3D Funhouse—now better known collectively as the ScareAtorium—you can thank Kelly and Neena, whose fitting 13-year run is practically unprecedented.

“When Kelly and I first got together, I had no idea there was such a thing as the haunted attraction industry,” she confessed. “Don has footage in the documentary going all the way back to Terror Park. He’s been capturing it since the very beginning.”

Ask any performer whether screen or stage acting is more challenging and rewarding, and most would agree on latter. And there’s definitely evidence of that in the ranks of haunted attractions. From the high school goths who maybe never fit in to theater folk looking for a novel outlet for select skills, there’s a tribe here that starts to resemble more of a family from one year to the next.

“I got my start as the general manager of a campground, and every Saturday at noon I’d get on the tractor, take everyone up into the woods, circle this big tree and come back,” he recalled. “One day a bunch of kids hid behind the tree and jumped out and scared everyone.”

Instead of scolding them, Kelly recruited them—keeping the standard hayride by day, but creating a spooky hayride at night that proved wildly popular. That’s when he was approached by the local Jaycees to turn it into something more. They’d recently lost the lease on their haunted house and partnered with Kelly to create a haunted hayride. He was hooked.

“The Jaycees are credited with creating the haunted house industry,” he explained. “Many of the oldest haunts in the country were started or still operated by the Jaycees.”

Short for “Junior Chamber,” the Jaycees, like many long-standing service organizations, have struggled in recent years to attract younger members. But for decades, they operated haunted houses as both a fundraiser and a recruiting effort. Even I didn’t know the Jaycees created the concept of the haunted house, and I used to volunteer throughout high school at one they operated in my hometown in the storage barn of a creepy old train depot.

Ohio actually leads the nation in the number of haunted attractions. Lower lease and land costs are part of it, but so is the Midwestern work ethic and entrepreneurial spirit. But it’s still a business.

“Even though we’re only open in October, Neena ran the business year-round. A lot of people who make the jump from home haunt to a professional haunt don’t last long,” he revealed. “Whether they decorated the backyard, garage, or basement, you can’t go to a bank to borrow that kind of money for a seasonal business that’s only open 20 days a year.”

That was the impetus for the Midwest Haunters Convention. Unlike private trade shows that mostly showcase cheap eeks and pricey props, the couple started a public convention to bridge the transition from passion project to profitability, offering classes on the business and art of haunted attractions.

“People sometimes get into it thinking they’re going to make money, but it typically takes three years to break even. They often fail for lack of knowledge, like not understanding fire codes,” Kelly noted, sharing the story of a haunt in an old school building that had to put $150,000 upfront into a sprinkler system before they could even open.

“Code standards are higher for haunted houses than they are for schools,” chided Neena. “People often ask us what it takes to run a million-dollar haunt and I tell them about $3 million.”

Neighbors can also be a nightmare if you don’t know what you’re doing. Germain Amphitheater closed for lots of reasons. Competition, controversy, and crowd control killed it long before an invasion of Scandinavian furniture. But noise and traffic complaints from nearby homeowners were probably the final nail in the coffin.

“Having a haunted house in a former funeral home sounds great, until you consider the parking problem. There just aren’t enough spaces,” he explained. “We had three great locations, but with 10,000 people coming through a year, even we had to keep moving.”

Upping the adrenaline also requires keeping things fresh, which for the Collins required replacing roughly a third of the attraction each year, with construction on new rooms starting as early as March.

Fortunately, their rate of staff return provided the continuity many haunts lack and envy. They fostered talent with an audition process and informal mentoring from actors and artisans who quickly became more than just part-time employees.

“When we’d break for meals, I’d make everyone put their phones away. I was a dad like that to everyone,” Kelly confessed. “Of the 150 or so staff, we had about 85 percent return year after year. It really became more of a family. We cherished it,” Neena noted.

The Collins recently sold their creepy creation to Thirteenth Floor, the nation’s premiere haunted house operator. Though the two are technically retired, and their haunt lives on under new management and through the documentary, it may not be the last we see of them.

“Kelly will still be consulting with the Midwest Haunters Convention and he may be doing some work with Shadowbox Live in Columbus,” Neena revealed. “Even in retirement, he’s busier than ever.” ▩

13th Floor Haunted House, still Columbus’s largest haunted attraction, is located at 2605 Northland Plaza. For open dates, tickets, and group rates, visit 13thfloorcolumbus.com.

To view a trailer for SCARE, visit youtu.be/teo0UHkCldY.

October 4, 2018

Local Haunts

Originally published in the October 2018 issue of (614) Magazine

The Columbus spirit scene is legendary, and not just for the intriguing elixirs your corner bartender conjures. No, there’s a less celebrated set of spirits you don’t always hear about from those behind the taps and bar tops, and they do much more than go bump in the night.

Anyone who has ever worked a closing shift alone has probably been a little freaked out at least once. Silence invites suspicion, and empty restaurants and bars only amplify it. Whether it’s the creaky floor in the kitchen or fear of the guy you cut off earlier lurking in the parking lot, our imaginations easily get the better of us.

But sometimes, maybe, it’s something more.

Cue Bucky Cutright, preeminent authority on local haunts, the places where we eat, drink, and frequent everyday with strange histories and supernatural happenings seldom spoken.

“I was a bit gloomy in my adolescence, and the stories coworkers would relate about mysterious noises emanating from empty banquet rooms or unexplained shadows and figures encountered in darkened hallways really stuck with me,” Cutright recalled, having worked in restaurants and bars himself since his teens. “After that, it wasn’t too far of a line between being fascinated with the experiences people were telling me about and connecting them with the historical record.”

That macabre convergence of history and mystery, coupled with Cutright’s passion and penchant for storytelling, were the inspiration for Columbus Ghost Tours. From seasonal Spirit Strolls and the more family-friendly Creepy Columbus, by far the most popular is Booze & Boos, a bus tour of our otherworldly underbelly.

“Before I knew it, I was plotting a narrative and a corresponding course through the downtown area while, honing my knowledge of the city’s dark past,” he explained. Initial tours were just meant for friends. Everywhere we went people would ask for business cards and want to know how they could sign up. It’s more like the business choose me than the other way around.”

Cutright’s costumed stagecraft and curatorial credibility aren’t ancillary. He confessed he had his own brush with the unexplained about a decade ago in the basement of certain Short North establishment where employees have reported more ominous encounters, like the sensation of being shoved or having their hair pulled.

“I was sitting in this room the bar closed with a friend after and we were discussing the building’s hauntings. As we were talking, the fluorescent lights in the corner of the office began to flicker. This, in itself, wasn’t anything out of the ordinary,” he explained. “It was when the flickering began to be accompanied by the sound of something clacking its nails and scratching down the wall that things became unnerving. We were both sitting within a few feet of this sound and could see that the corner was clear of anything that could make such a noise.”

The basement walls were solid stone so the sound wasn’t coming from the other side. But with abandoned drains and old pipes connecting several building in the area, Cutright rationalized the sound away as perhaps a rodent that must have become trapped. He even wrote a note for the owner, hoping to help free the poor creature stuck inside—until a closer look revealed otherwise.

“I inspected the corner and discovered it wasn’t a drainage pipe at all, but a support beam that was sealed off at both ends,” he said. “There was no squirrel or mouse in the pipe. The sound of claws scratching down the wall was coming from something else. When I realized this, all my hair stood on end as an eerie sensation overtook me and I quickly fled the basement.”

Cutright isn’t alone in his unease, and the bartenders at Char Bar—often the first stop on the tour—have stories that could scare you sober.

Built near a graveyard that was relocated to Green Lawn Cemetery, unmarked graves and decomposed bodies still turn up periodically amid perpetual Short North construction. Char Bar’s basement seems to be the center of unrest, once a funeral parlor that was on the first floor, later buried below street level when the road was raised to cross over the railroad tracks of the old Union Station. Rumor has it even Lincoln’s remains were there briefly. Following weeks of travel by train after his assassination to let a grieving nation bid farewell, even “Honest Abe” needed a little touch up.

“It was Christmas Eve and I was the only one closing up. I grabbed the padlock out of the cabinet for the back door and the remote for the TV and put them on the end of the bar like I do every night,” explained Zack Price. “Earlier in the evening, a few people asked me about the strange experiences some customers have had in the basement.”

Price gets those questions a lot, but was always a polite skeptic—before that night. While checking the bathrooms downstairs he felt a rush of air as he passed the dilapidated antique piano, like someone breathing into his ear. He chalked it up as only in his head, but when he got to the top of the stairs, the lock and the remote were gone.

“I know I put them on the bar. But after checking to make sure no one else was there, I found the lock back in the cabinet, and the remote on the counter,” he said. “I locked up fast and got out of there.”

Bartender Erin McIntyre’s experience was directly with the piano, which some say they still hear playing upstairs, even when no one is in the basement.

“As I was coming out of the restroom, the piano made a huge noise and seemed to move away from the wall a little,” McIntyre recalled. “I ran up the stairs and after a few minutes talked myself into going back down, even though I was alone. I’d only seen it move out of the corner of my eye, so I dismissed it and didn’t tell anyone.”

The next night, two terrified patrons, in separate incidents, also came running up the stairs swearing they too had seen the piano move away from the wall. The bartender on duty credited the spirits—not “the spirits”—until McIntyre arrived and shared her similar tale from the previous evening.

“There were three of us, who didn’t know each other, and we all saw the same thing,” she said emphatically. “At this point, the piano was a few feet away from the wall, and it took five people to move it back. That’s not anyone’s imagination.” ▩

For details on the Booze & Boos Bus Tour, visit columbusghosttours.com

Char Bar – 439 N High Street – is far from the only haunt near downtown with a creepy pedigree. You can also grab a bite and fright at these three eerie eateries. (Well two, until the “oldest bar in Columbus” claims its next victim.)

Elevator Brewery & Draught House – 161 N High Street

Patrons report seeing footprints fade into freshly fallen snow, allegedly left by a scorned lover of Colonel Randolph Pritchard, stabbed in 1909 as he left the former Botts Brothers Saloon. The old clock out front seemed to stop at the moment of his death. Bartender Geoff Bommer said all of the staff know or have experienced unusual events. “We have radiator heat that pings and clangs, but people also say they’ve seen shadowy figures or flashes of light. Some even have pictures of it.

Schmidt’s Sausage Haus – 240 E Kossuth Street

The cobblestone streets aren’t the only strange rumblings at this German Village destination for sauerkraut and cream puffs. A seemingly benign spirit is rumored to roam the restaurant at night, rearranging chairs and brushing up against unsuspecting employees. Allegedly appearing once in a mirror, it’s presumed to be the former owner. Closing staff have all heard the stories, but patron encounters are limited. That extra Bahama Mama is probably more likely to haunt you later.

Blind Lady Tavern/1831 Tavern/The Jury Room – 22 E. Mound Street

Sometimes an establishment is both haunted and cursed. The future of the venerated venue remains as elusive as it’s perennial paranormal guests. Reportedly a well-known brothel for a longer stretch than it was more recently a meatball joint for a blink called “Balls Bar,” staff for decades have reported apparitions attributed to a murder that took place on the premises. Even the Travel Channel series The Dead Files filmed an episode there fittingly titled “Blood in the Bordello”.